Clutter
by Fatespeaker
Summary: "I'm the dragonet with no destiny!" We all know that Fierceteeth, Starflight's half-sister, is far from heroic, but what about her side of the story? What tumult and tragedy has she endured? Surely there is more to this troubled dragonet than first meets the eye. Who is Fierceteeth? Perhaps a day's worth of her cluttered thoughts will provide us with some answers.
1. The Study

CLUTTER

* * *

I. The Study

Clean the study. Clean the study, he said.

His mess, his papers, his job.

His. his. his.

Not mine. I don't care. I don't care about _his stuff_.

His kid. His wife. Not mine. Not my mom.

His stupid stack of scrolls.

His jars of pickled things. Hmmm. Actually, that's interesting. A frog?

Bright colors. Blue. Yellow. Dirty jar.

I'll steal it. One thing is mine. Mine. Not his.

His life is all over here. The walls. The tables. The floor.

Mess.

Clutter, he said once.

Ink and paper.

Graphs and charts and letters and numbers.

Pile of papers. His papers. One falls.

What is this?

"Cardiovascular Stats".

His work. His time.

Numbers increasing down the page.

His name.

No date.

Looks important.

Crumple it up.

More scrolls. Old, dry paper.

Studies and stuff.

I don't know. I don't care.

His guesses and discoveries.

His writing. Always in a hurry. Sloppy, messy. Like his study. I hate it. I hate it.

All of his work.

Fire in my throat.

I could burn it.

What would happen?

Clean his study.

 _Burn his study._

I could blame it on the candles.

Fat white candles. Always puts them out.

He would know.

He would know it was me.

Mess.

Sweep the floor. Dust. Dust everywhere. Eww. Dust in my mouth.

Gather scrolls. Smells like the library. I hate the library.

 _strongwings why are we in here oh was this your idea cool let's prank her_

Okay. I don't always hate the library.

Weird stains on the rock wall. Why is this green?

Is that blood?

Wooden frame. Dark wood. Don't know the name.

Painting of himself. Awful painting.

Did she paint this?

Wrong. His smile is thinner. His face is uglier.

Why did she paint this?

Burn. I wish I could burn it.

Orange fire. Fire everywhere. Stupid painting could be ash.

White wax. Blame that candle.

No.

Ugh.

His voice.

Obnoxious. Whiny.

Grow up. Annoying.

Sneezes. He has a cold.

Good.

I hope he feels awful.

His study. Dusty, messy, ugly study.

Not clean. Never clean. Not really. But I'm done.

Coughing. His voice.

Mine. My name.

 _fierceteeth_

Me.

 **"Fierceteeth, are you done yet?"**

Done. Done with his study.

Now what?

His lab.

No.

I will not clean his lab.

Exit. Rock brushes my scales. Leave the room. His study. Hate it.

Tail drags. Warm floor.

Look back.

Ugly painting.

Is it watching me?

Scrolls. Tables. Dust. Candles.

Clutter.

His mess.


	2. Two Hours Ago

CLUTTER

* * *

II. Two Hours Ago

In the dormitory. Quiet.

Strongwings is looking at me.

I like it. Do I like it?

 _last night flying look at the stars and then smoke can't see look at him instead_

My mind is messy.

Clutter.

I don't know.

Look away. Rock walls. Gray and black. Calm. I like the colors.

Empty room.

Just us. Just two.

 **"I'm glad we skipped class today."**

Stomach hurts. I am empty. No food last week.

Hunger.

Shift wing. Wing hurts.

Why? Is it bruised?

Strongwings. Dark eyes.

Conversation. Useless words. Talk and talk.

I like it. I do.

Down the hall. A sound. A footstep.

Another.

We are quiet.

Our names.

That teacher. Stomping. Angry frown. Gray and black scales.

We are caught.

Now, a punishment.

* * *

Not him.

 _Helping_ him _._

No. She doesn't know.

The worst punishment.

It was him.

* * *

Night. Gray and black sky.

Outside the fortress.

Look up.

Stars. Smoke. Dragons flying.

Landing. All in rows.

I am looking at them. Just two.

My mom.

 _She is my mother._

Mine. Mine. Mine.

My mom stands with _him_.

They are there. They are touching. They are smiling.

His wedding.

His wife. My mom.

Fire in my throat.

The air is ash.

 _fierceteeth you already know i love you_

Look around. Smiles. Stained teeth grin. Singing and cheering.

Happiness. Almost.

Why?

His wing.

He is hugging her.

His.

 _i love you i always loved you but_

And it's not right. It's not right.

My mother. My family. Mine.

Go away.

 _i want to marry again we are going to be mates yes i love him_

She looks at me. She smiles.

Beautiful. She is calm. Silvers shines on her brow.

Yes, she said. She said yes. She said yes to him.

 _yes fierceteeth i miss your father but i want to start again_

And now he is talking.

He is saying yes.

No. No. She is mine. She is my family.

Smoke. The volcano. Tonight there is smoke.

I cough.

 _listen to me_

Chest hurts.

Flap my wings.

 _fierceteeth please_

She is looking at him.

I don't understand.

 _you'll understand when you're older_

I am young. She says I am too young.

No. I will never understand.

 _that i love him_

She looks up. Catches my eye.

 _and i still love your father_

Ceremony. Useless ceremony. Showing off.

She asked me to be part of it. To be with her there.

No. Never.

Not with him.

Stubborn. I am stubborn. Yes.

As stubborn as he is.

 _we are planning a wedding fierceteeth please_

All the years. He waited.

 _please cooperate_

She does not know.

She is prey. She does not know.

I hate her. I hate her. I hate her now.

 _fierceteeth listen_

Mother. My mother. Mine.

Now his smile. Clean teeth. Wide eyes.

Not love. It can't be.

Singing. Her song. Her favorite song.

She twirls.

His or mine.

Not ours. Not ever.

Mother or wife. She'll choose.

I look.

He does not see me. Fine.

Then this is it. We are at war.

My mouth is dry.

Breathe fire. Just a puff.

Inhale and cough.

Dirty air.

Clutch my snout. The smoke. The smoke.

Turn. The fortress.

Volcano. Black and gray rock.

Sometimes it rumbles.

I wonder when it will explode.

* * *

In the hall.

Finally done.

Hate that study. His study. Hate it.

Where is Strongwings?

Not in class. No.

Find him.

Impatience.

Where is he?

Kick a rock.

Ow.

A small window.

Hole in the wall.

The weather has changed.

Blue.

White clouds.

Some smoke.

The sky is clearer today.

Cleaner air.

Have to find him. Keep walking.

 _Find Strongwings._

We will sit outside.

Where we can breathe.

Yes.


	3. Glass

CLUTTER

* * *

III. Glass

Remembering broken glass.

Clear and wet and jagged.

Sharp edges. Pieces everywhere.

The sound was loud. A _smash_. I loved it.

Did I love it?

Big, angry _crash_.

Time stopped.

Clear. Sharp.

Too many thoughts.

Memory. Hate. Glass.

It shattered.

I meant it. I did.

* * *

A voice.

Strongwings.

Look up, smiling.

 **"There you are. Let's go flying."**

He nods.

Head spins. Sudden happiness.

The day has just begun.

* * *

Outside.

Breathing. Breathing.

Air is dirty, but less than usual.

How nice.

Spreading my wings.

I will fly.

I can forget the glass.


	4. Recollections While Flying

CLUTTER

* * *

IV. Recollections While Flying

The air above the volcano is warm.

There is math about that. Scientific rules.

I hate that junk. I don't care.

I fly.

Strongwings is better at this than I am.

Can't let him know that.

Smoke in the air.

We talk. We joke.

A dare passed to me.

I shout back. I'll do it. I'm going to do it.

Higher and higher. I fly over the fortress.

Strongwings yelling.

Look back.

He is following me.

I almost laugh. Almost.

 _what you didn't think i would do it just watch me_

That's how StrongWings is. How it always goes.

 _told you i could i told you strongwings_

Last week we snuck out.

The other side of the island.

Beneath the stars.

Black and gray and stars.

Now a blue sky.

But the same place. The same smoke.

Not escape.

I circle back.

I will swoop over the volcano.

I will do the dare.

That's how it always goes.

* * *

Smiling smugly.

Strongwings admits it.

I am an awesome flier.

Ha.

We go together. Strongwings and I. Just two.

Down toward the beach.

Black sand. Sharp rocks.

The water is loud.

Crashing waves. Over and over.

We can rest here.

* * *

We chat. It's fun. Boring but fun.

I like it. I do.

We talk about class. That teacher. Sneaking out again.

I call him dumb. He calls me a jerk. Neither of us meant it.

Strongwings knows.

I remember the rainforest. Green. Wet.

I want to go there again.

Maybe we can get past the guards. Maybe.

A wing over mine. Hugging me.

Warmth.

Strongwings says something.

I don't hear it.

I want to go there again.

I want to _leave_.

Looking over my shoulder.

Gray sky over a volcano that rumbles.

One day it will happen. One day it will explode.

I tell him. I want to leave, is what I say.

Then I say it again.

Throat hurts. Words come out quiet.

Distant noise. The waves.

Strongwings kicks the sand.

He lets go of me. He asks a question.

 **"Why?"**

I think about it.

I don't know the answer.

* * *

Wind.

Cold and then warm.

Rising then falling.

Under me. Over me.

I do a flip. A sloppy flip.

Strongwings admires it anyway.

We cough. Both of us.

A cloud of cruddy air.

Spat out by the volcano.

I can relate. I breathe fire too.

And sometimes I make others scared.

But I won't blow up.

* * *

We fly in circles.

I think.

 _Don't think about leaving._

 _Don't think about why._

Dang it. Now I'm thinking about that.

I look down. Neck aches. Rub it.

Below me. Long, dark lines. Bubbly rock. Dried up lava.

The west side of the island.

I see it. A clump of dead bushes.

I used to sit there.

Strongwings does not know.

A pause in my head.

Then I think of it all. I think of it all and I remember.

* * *

I remember the sky.

Dirty yellow.

The dirt smelled good, so I laid down.

It was quiet. I hated it. I hated the quiet.

I stood up. I stomped around.

It didn't help.

I cursed and cursed and cursed.

It didn't help.

I hit the ground. I threw a stone. I burned a dead tree.

I watched it and I liked it. The heat. The noise.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

I wished it was a dragon, any dragon. Someone mean.

Then I lowered my head. I touched my cheeks. My own face.

Kicked up some dirt. Put out the fire.

It didn't help.

I sat down in the bushes. I looked at the sky and saw the sunset color. Dirty yellow.

Yuck. I hate the color yellow.

Closed my eyes.

Thought about things.

Morrowseer. Prophecy. Mother. Egg.

Not me. Not me. Not me.

It wasn't me.

It wasn't my destiny.

Not _mine_. Not ever.

I wanted it to be. I wanted it to be my prophecy.

What a stupid thought. Back then, I was stupid.

I was young.

* * *

Breathing fast. Don't know why.

Strongwings doesn't notice. He is looking ahead.

I want to say something.

I don't.

A thought. No. Wait.

A memory.

* * *

Went home after watching the yellow sky.

I flew. I was slow.

My wings were little. I was young.

Dark. No stars.

The clouds made it black.

In the fortress. Loud footsteps.

The hall. The caves. The fifth one.

Stomped in. Glared.

Found her with a fat white candle.

Sighing.

Writing numbers.

I yelled at her.

Quiet.

 _Mother._ That's what I yelled.

She looked at me.

Then she looked at her numbers.

A sketch on the wall. The first step.

Next, a painting. An ugly painting. She would make it.

I pointed. I yelled.

She explained, but the words came out quiet.

She glanced back. Numbers.

She kept talking. Softly.

Don't wake Quickstrike, is what she said. She's next door. She's sleeping.

I didn't care. That made her angry.

So I said his name.

And I kept saying it.

Did it help?

She was crying. She wouldn't do it. She wouldn't.

So I made her say it.

I made her remember.

 _Silentkill._

My father's name.

Did it help?

* * *

Left wing hurts.

We will stop soon. We will get tired.

Then we will go back and sleep.

And tomorrow someone old will yell at us.

But we will still do this again.

I look down. I want to smile.

I can't.

On the beach, he asked me, Why?

I remember. I know the answer.

It is too late to tell him.

Leave now. Leave NOW.

Too late to tell him.

* * *

 _Silentkill._

The name.

Over and over.

I will never forget.

My mother screamed the name.

Silentkil. Silentkill. Silentkill.

But then she stopped.

And there was another name.

She said it softly.

 _Mastermind._

* * *

Strongwings laughing.

Good. Nice sound.

Loud and sincere. Like he means it.

Laughing back at him.

Now.

I make up my mind.

No more remembering.


	5. A Conversation

CLUTTER

* * *

V. A Conversation

Mastermind: Fierceteeth! Oh, you really shouldn't be in here. There's so much, so much clutter. But I'm glad -

Fierceteeth: I don't want to be here.

Mastermind: Oh. All right, then.

A pause.

Mastermind: What do you need?

Fierceteeth: Give me her scrolls.

Mastermind: What?

Fierceteeth: Where are they? Where did you put them?

Mastermind: Farsight's.

Fierceteeth: Give me them!

Mastermind: Hold on. Hold on. They are just...No, no, wait, I moved them. They are somewhere here. I need to organize.

Fierceteeth: They're mine.

A pause.

Mastermind: Yes. Right.

Fierceteeth: What is this junk?

Mastermind: Wait! Wait! Stop touching that. Stars and moons, I need to clean this desk.

Fierceteeth: Fine. Have it.

Mastermind: Aah! Please, don't...throw...glass things. Please.

Fierceteeth: Give me my scrolls, then.

Mastermind: Fierceteeth - Oh! Found one. Here we go.

Fierceteeth: What's this crud? Math?

Mastermind: Your mother was a brilliant mathematician, Fierceteeth.

Fierceteeth: Was she?

Mastermind: Yes! Huh. Probability tests? She loved those. You know -

Fierceteeth: Of course I know!

Mastermind. She was the, the fastest and sharpest mind in this fortress! Used to put all the rest to shame. Even me.

Fierceteeth: Of course she did.

Mastermind: We used to work together -

Fierceteeth: I know! I know already! Shut up.

A length of silence.

Mastermind: Oh. This. You'll like this. It's one of her sketches. I have her collection somewhere.

Fierceteeth: I have a lot of her drawings already.

Mastermind: You can have this one, too.

Fierceteeth: Give me it.

A pause.

Mastermind: She loved those flowers. They were purple and yellow.

Fierceteeth: Her favorite colors.

Mastermind: Yes. Purple and yellow. I would help her mix paints. We used jungle plants.

Fierceteeth: She...didn't color this one.

Mastermind: Well, it isn't her finest work. She was a wonderful artist. Even her charcoal sketches are beautiful. The lines, the shapes. She was -

Fierceteeth: Shut up!

 **Glass.**

Mastermind: Please put that down.

Fierceteeth: She was my mom. I knew her better than you ever will!

Mastermind: Fierceteeth.

Fierceteeth: She is my mom! My mom!

A loud crash.

Fierceteeth: And you aren't my dad!

The conversation ends.


	6. Recollections At Night

CLUTTER

* * *

VI. Recollections At Night

On hard stone.

Cold.

Suppose to be a bed.

Hate it.

Hate the cold rock.

Back hurts. Wing hurts. Stomach hurts.

Hurt. Hurt. Hate.

Dormitory is wide and calm.

Dragonets snoring.

Annoying.

Roll over. Wings over my head.

Still hear snoring.

 _Yell at them._

I could yell at them.

No.

They'd yell back.

Sigh.

Close eyes.

Can't sleep.

Open eyes.

Rock and shadow.

Black and gray.

Candlelight.

A cold draft.

Shivering.

Strongwings. I miss Strongwings.

Think about him.

Think about warmth.

Fire. Crack. Crack. Crack.

Imagine it. Imagine burning.

I try. I can't.

Sigh.

A small window.

Square of stars.

Close eyes.

Stars.

I still see them.

Oh no.

I don't sleep.

I remember.

* * *

Square of blue.

Looked out the window.

Saw gray clouds, but also blue.

Good sky.

Bad day.

Yelled at Morrowseer.

He didn't yell back.

Instead, calm words.

 _go to your dormitory think about what you said_

He was not afraid.

 _then come back for your punishment you insolent child_

Mother said nothing.

Mother said _nothing_.

Only the egg.

All she cared about.

Egg.

Stupid, small egg.

Destiny. Prophecy. Hero.

Why?

Why the egg?

Their hopes.

Their future.

 _My_ future.

Why not me?

Not mine. Not mine.

Not fair.

I sat. I kicked. I frowned.

The dormitory.

Boring. Gray. Black.

Looked around.

Empty.

The window.

The floor. A square of light.

I saw it.

My shadow.

I moved. She moved.

Lifted my wing.

Shadow obeyed.

Put it down.

Shadow obeyed.

One. Just one.

The only thing I control.

Clenched my fist.

One thing.

Nothing else.

My tribe?

My world?

My family?

No.

Just my shadow.

No more than that.

Breathed out.

Smoke.

Let it rise.

Watched.

Waited.

Then Morrowseer's voice.

Morrowseer's steps.

He was not afraid.

Neither was I.

Destiny. Prophecy. Hero.

He said it to my face.

He said the truth.

Not me. Not mine.

No destiny.

No control.

I did not yell.

* * *

Snore.

Ugh.

So loud.

Can't ignore it.

Snore.

Can't stand it.

Roll over again.

Sigh. Again.

Every night.

This happens every night.

Close eyes.

Maybe sleep...

Another snore.

Nope.

Mutter a curse word.

Scratch at bed.

Awful, cold, stone bed.

Nice sound.

Hurts my claw.

Shuffle wings.

Breath in.

Breath out.

Look at the ceiling.

Jagged. Plain.

Wish it had stars.

Never mind.

The stars would be blocked anyway.

So I don't wish that.

Throat hurts.

Am I sick?

Ugh.

I hope not.

Always happens.

Sickness everywhere.

In the food. In the air. In the water.

Am I ever not sick?

I don't know.

I don't care, I guess.

Sigh. Close eyes.

No sleep.

Just old memories.

* * *

Big eyes.

Pale.

Cold.

Staring. Stuck on her.

I knew it then.

He was _weird_.

On the beach.

The other side of the island.

No sand.

Just pebbles.

Talking to her.

She talked back.

My mother. Mine.

I watched.

No control.

A square window.

Peering out.

Dormitory, looking down.

Alone.

They did not know.

Holding a scroll.

Stupid scroll. History.

Wanted to throw it.

Wanted to hit him. And her.

Surprise them. Show them.

I was there.

I was _always_ there.

Every day, she saw me.

Every day, she saw her daughter.

She did it anyway.

She said his name.

Then he said hers.

And a question.

 **"Farsight, do you love me?"**

Her dark eyes. Almost black.

Like mine.

Studying him.

Pausing.

Then a smile.

I watched. I saw it.

She nodded.

It wasn't true.

Not true. Not true.

Closed my eyes.

Turned away.

She liked him.

Did she like him?

* * *

Stretch my wings.

Hit a wall. Ow.

Head up.

Squint.

Watch the ceiling.

Black. Gray.

Calm.

A sneeze.

No!

I _am_ sick.

Why?

Oh, why?

Wait.

I can skip class.

I can say, I'm sick.

Hmm.

Okay. Not so bad.

Not so bad after all.

I'm sick. Yay.

Close eyes.

Wipe snout.

Sneeze.

Recollections.

I hate them.

* * *

In the lab. His lab.

I stood there.

Crooked desk.

Papers. Glassware. Bubbles.

He stepped softly.

He turned.

I thought: _I hate the way he looks at me._

 _Like I am a puzzle._

 _Like I am a question._

 _But I do not need a stupid answer._

 _Or a useless solution._

 _I am a dragon._

 _I am Fierceteeth._

 _And he will not put me together._

He smiled at me.

He did not mean it.

Big, pale eyes.

He is wrong, I thought.

I am not a lock.

I cannot be _opened_.

* * *

She is gone now.

He is not.

Half-asleep.

Mom. My mom.

His wife.

Dark eyes. Numbers. Flowers. Prophecy. Purple. Yellow.

Remember her name.

Farsight.

I could yell it.

I could whisper it.

I could ignore it.

I think it.

Farsight. Farsight. Farsight.

Snore.

Ugh.

Pause.

A decision.

Tomorrow I will skip class again.

Tomorrow I will stand by her grave.

A choice is made.

I will.

Now sleep.

Close eyes.

Silence.

Then...

Snore.


	7. Another Conversation

CLUTTER

* * *

VII. Another Conversation

Fierceteeth: Mom?

Farsight: Fierceteeth, can I talk to you?

Fierceteeth: Yeah. Sure.

Farsight: This is important. Quit chewing on that.

Fierceteeth: Mmmhmm?

Farsight: I'm serious.

Fierceteeth: What?

A pause.

Farsight: I have been thinking...about a change.

Fierceteeth: Okay.

A longer pause.

Farsight: Mastermind and I are planning a wedding.

Fierceteeth: Your wedding?

Farsight: Well, yes. I am marrying him.

Fierceteeth: No.

Farsight: Fierceteeth.

Fierceteeth: No.

Farsight: You already know I love you.

Fierceteeth: You can't.

Farsight: I love you. I always loved you, and your father, and our family. But I want to marry again.

Fierceteeth: No! Not him. No.

Farsight: We are going to be mates.

Fierceteeth: You want...him?!

Farsight: Yes. I love him.

Fierceteeth: No! Why?! What about me? What about Dad?

Farsight: Yes, Fierceteeth, I miss your father, but I want to start again.

Fierceteeth: Stop it!

Farsight: Listen to me. Fierceteeth, please. You'll understand when you're older.

Fierceteeth: I said stop it!

Farsight: You'll understand that I love him, and I still love your father, and I'll love you all forever. Please, Fierceteeth.

Fierceteeth: No. No! Mom!

Farsight: We are planning a wedding.

Fierceteeth: I hate him!

Farsight: Fierceteeth.

Fierceteeth: You can't.

Farsight: Please...please cooperate.

Fierceteeth: You can't just do this!

Farsight: Fierceteeth, listen. I said LISTEN. Mastermind and I are getting married, because I love him, and he loves me, and that is done. And whether or not you believe it, he loves you too.

Fierceteeth: I hate him. I hate you.

 **Mother.**

A soft sob.

The conversation ends.


	8. Purple and Yellow

CLUTTER

* * *

VIII. Purple and Yellow

He gave me her paint set.

Brushes and pencils.

Cans of purple and yellow sludge.

Gross.

So I knocked them all over.

Thick and sticky. It pooled like blood.

I stomped in it. I stepped all over it.

Footprints all over the dormitory.

Ugly purple. Ugly yellow. Mixed and became brown.

It dried up, and I had to scrub it off.

Stupid paint cans. Stupid art.

I hate painting.

Snapped all the pencils. Burned the pieces.

Orange flames. Growing fire. Ash. Sparks. Loved it.

That was fun.

He peeked in. His stupid face. He was shocked.

 **"Fierceteeth, what have you _done_?"**

Satisfaction. I made him scared.

A brief thought.

Where did the brushes go?

Can't remember.

And I don't care.

* * *

The memory fades.

Gray dormitory. Look around. Gray and boring.

I remember the purple and yellow footprints. Colors on the walls.

Sometimes.

Sometimes I miss those colors.

And the pencils and the brushes and the cans.

The paint set. Ruined.

Sometimes I miss it.


	9. The Study Revisited

CLUTTER

* * *

IX. The Study Revisited

A flower lays on dirt.

Pale yellow.

No purple.

It will fade.

Then it will wilt.

One day it will be dirt.

But it is there now.

Nobody will paint its picture.

Nobody else will see.

Only me.

I will remember.

Pale yellow flower.

Close eyes.

Light breeze. Ash in the air.

She is beside my father.

Beneath me. Just two.

One day they will be dirt.

On the slope of the volcano.

Rocky ground.

Empty place.

Overlooking the sea.

Dead bushes.

Smoke.

One day this will explode.

The shore. The dirt. The bones.

And I will remember.

But not now.

Not yet.

Look.

Flower.

Wrinkled petals.

Already turning brown.

I fly. I go back to the fortress.

I leave it there.

* * *

Strongwings.

My Strongwings.

Frowning, talking.

He asks, Where have you been?

He asks, Why?

I don't answer.

Walk past him.

He follows.

Then he sees.

He leaves.

In the hall now.

Alone.

Look around.

The laboratory.

I enter.

* * *

Before.

Before the prophecy.

Before the egg.

Before Mastermind.

Farsight and I.

Just two.

We were happy.

Were we happy?

* * *

I stick my head in.

Smells weird. Something spilled.

Wet rags on the floor. New mess.

A mistake. His mistake. Not my fault.

Call for him.

Say the name. Say _that_ name. It feels odd.

A pause.

Sounds of light stepping. Clinking glassware.

A reply.

He is in the study. He is working.

Of course.

I sneeze.

Sick. Is he still sick, too?

He says, oh dear.

He asks for help.

* * *

Over and over.

I have watched and hated and yelled.

Over and over, it keeps happening.

But I have no control.

Not really. Not my fault.

I am trapped here.

A tribe and a volcano.

When I'm dead, I will blame both.

If I were older.

If I were special.

If I had a mother.

If I had a father.

If I had _choices_.

If.

* * *

Past stained tables.

Past vials of venom.

Past charts and graphs and numbers.

Across a sticky floor.

It's a cluttered lab.

Like the cluttered study.

I think, he is a cluttered dragon.

The study's entrance.

I stop.

Glass. Labels. Liquid. Bubbles. Scrolls.

He is there.

Sitting, sighing, writing.

He does not look up.

 **"That beaker over there. Can you pass it to me?"**

He points.

I think, I can.


	10. End

CLUTTER

* * *

X. End

A new beaker.

Smooth glass.

Touch it. Warm. Water inside.

His eyes. His pale eyes. Watching.

The beaker. Thick glass.

Hold it. Steady.

Claws curled over it. Firm.

Holding it out. Water sloshes.

I look around.

It is quiet. It is cluttered. It is calm.

He reaches for it.

Quiet. Clutter. Calm.

I wait.

Glass. Round. Unbroken.

He sees it. I hold it.

Possibility.

Feel it. Just a moment. Perfect pause.

And then the end.

It drops.

Loud crash.

Yes.


	11. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

Thanks for reading my poetry (or for skipping to the last chapter for some reason)! "Clutter" was an absolute joy to write, and I hope it was a good read.

I'm going to stop and clarify some stuff here, since I KNOW you (yes, you) are already thinking of typing a strongly worded review with a message somewhere along the lines of "OMG Fatespeaker, didn't you read the Fierceteeth winglet?! This was so inaccurate and out of character!" I'm going to stop ya right there and get this explanation over with.

The answer is yes, I have read Tui Sutherland's amazing short story _Prisoners_ and, no, I did not consider it while writing this poetry cycle.

Now, before everyone starts yelling about how the winglets are canon and I should have used Fierceteeth's actual backstory, give me a sec to explain why I wrote "Clutter", and why I chose to ignore certain aspects of Wings of Fire canon..

The ideas that eventually made "Clutter" were taking shape in my mind as I read _The Dark Secret_ , a long time before _Prisoners_ was published.

I wondered what Fierceteeth had experienced to make her the way she was. In the absence of a canon explanation, I invented my own. I dreamed up a twisted story about the character's frustration with the prophecy, about her grief over the loss of her parents, her odd romantic interest, and her volatile relationship with a certain NightWing scientist. I don't know what compelled me to write it down, but I did, and that story eventually became "Clutter".

Then _Prisoners_ gave Fierceteeth a canon backstory and basically blew up the entire premise of "Clutter". I read it, loved it, then shrugged and decided to keep going with my own version of events. You see, as much as I love Tui Sutherland's official story for Fierceteeth, my personal take on the character is too deeply rooted in my perception of her to throw away.

 _Prisoners_ is still my favorite winglet, and I love, love, love everything about it. Fierceteeth will always be a special character to me, as will my slightly altered version of her backstory.

For anyone curious, here are the differences between "Clutter" and the real story:

1\. In canon, Fierceteeth doesn't know anything about her father because he died before she hatched. Here, she knows who he was.

2\. In "Clutter", Fierceteeth struggles with mourning her mother. She never mentions Farsight's death in canon.

3\. Similarly, she is not shown experiencing grief over her father in canon.

4\. In canon, Mastermind and Farsight were not married, and Fierceteeth does not know who fathered Starflight. In "Clutter", they were known to be mates, and Fierceteeth has a complicated relationship with her stepfather. Fierceteeth is indifferent to Mastermind in canon.


End file.
